


Passing Go

by elaine



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-04-11
Updated: 1999-04-11
Packaged: 2018-11-10 20:16:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11133978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: Ray returns from Canada a very unhappy man, but Turnbull is there to help him.





	Passing Go

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Ray Kowalski parked his car outside the Canadian Consulate and turned off the engine. Then he just sat for a while, his fingers unconsciously gripping and releasing the steering wheel. He really didn't want to be here. Finally he heaved an exasperated sigh, gritted his teeth and swung the car door open.

Welsh had ordered him down here, ignoring his somewhat heated argument that some other, any other, cop could have done the job. Maybe this was Welsh's way of punishing him for the argument in the locker room this morning. Well, he was here now. Might as well get it over with. He shambled up the path, hands in his pockets, a scowl fixed on his face. Not that he'd made much of an effort to get rid of it. He had to be here, but that didn't mean he had to be friendly.

The inside of the Consulate was just as dark and gloomy as ever. The red uniform behind the desk seemed to glow; the only real colour in the place. For a moment it was as if none of the last few months had ever happened. As if he could simply flip a hand in greeting to Turnbull and walk past him into  
the murky depths of the back hallway to Fraser's tiny excuse for an office. He stopped at the desk.

"Hello, Ray." Turnbull's angular face turned up to his, a smile lightening his usually serious features. "It's very nice to see you here again."

"Yeah. Likewise." He kept his voice to no more than a discouraging growl. The smile disappeared rapidly. "Listen. I gotta see the Ice Queen. She in?"

"Oh…" As usual when faced with anything unexpected, Turnbull became flustered. "Well, yes…" and then, as Kowalski made a move towards the office. "But… but, you can't see her!"

"Sure I can. Just watch me." He was halfway to the door when Turnbull stumbled to his feet and moved to block his way.

"No… really, Ray. The Inspector's in a meeting with the trade attache…" his voice trailed away as Kowalski stopped, so close their chests were almost touching. He blushed.

Kowalski ground his teeth at this reminder of the Mountie's ridiculous crush on him. He didn't want to think about that, or the all too obvious parallels between him and Fraser. "Look, I just gotta get a file off her and then I can be outta your hair, okay? Let me past."

He feinted to the left, and then ducked right. If there'd been a bit more space, it might have worked, but as it was, Turnbull was too quick. They jostled back and forth, nothing serious, but ended up pretty much where they'd started.

Kowalski found his temper, always an erratic quality these days, rising fast. "Let me past, dammit. Get out of the way."

Turnbull's face set stubbornly. "I can't do that, Ray."

He put his hands in the centre of the red serge covered chest and shoved. Not hard. Just enough to show he meant business. "Goddammit, you moron, move!"

His only answer was the tightening of Turnbull's lips and a shake of the head. Then Turnbull folded his arms determinedly across his chest. Somehow, that was the last straw. Kowalski wasn't aware of moving, but suddenly, his knuckles hurt and Turnbull was holding a hand to his left cheek, a look of  
shocked disbelief on his face. And that, of course, was when Thatcher opened her office door.

"Turnbull, what's going…" she stopped as Turnbull spun round to face her, his hand dropping to his side as he straightened to attention.

Even Kowalski could see the reddened patch of skin on his cheek as he turned. Thatcher's eyes lingered on that for a moment, then turned, coldly angry, to him. "Would you care to explain yourself, Detective?"

For once, words deserted him. It was Turnbull who answered her. "Ray is here to pick up a file, Sir."

"Thank you, Constable." Thatcher didn't even bother to look at him. "Detective, perhaps you would care to explain why you found it necessary to assault my staff?"

"Uh…" Kowalski tried to pull himself together. He wasn't very successful. "I was in a hurry, you see, and…"

"He didn't assault me, Sir. It was an accident." They both stared incredulously at the Mountie. Kowalski could see the back of his neck turning red. "Ray was trying to get past me and… and I tripped and …" Turnbull looked around the hallway for inspiration, but it was blindingly  
obvious to all of them that there was nothing that could explain the mark on his cheek. "…well, it was an accident."

It was time to make his getaway, Kowalski decided. "Uh… I'm here for the file on the Bonham case, Inspector. Lt Welsh said you'd have them."

Thatcher sent a look Turnbull's way that boded ill for her subordinate. "I'll get them. I'll also be contacting Lt Welsh to discuss this… accident."

She disappeared back into her office, and Kowalski could hear her apologising briefly to her guest. He avoided looking at Turnbull. A moment later she was back with the file.

"Now, get out of my Consulate. And don't come back. Lt. Welsh can send another errand boy in future." Her voice cut like a knife.

All the same, it was the hurt look on Turnbull's face that haunted him all the way back to the station house. He felt like he'd kicked a puppy.

*

"Kowalski, get in here."

Ignoring the speculative looks, he strolled casually across to Lt Welsh's office, trying to pretend a confidence he didn't feel. He had a very good idea what this was all about. He'd been expecting it all afternoon, and had done his best to make himself scarce, but he'd had to come back to the Bull Pen eventually.

"Yeah?" He slouched over to the nearest chair and dropped into it without waiting for an invitation.

"Have a seat, Detective." Welsh's voice was ironic. He riffled through a sheaf of papers. "Ah, yes… your devotion to duty is admirable, Kowalski, but was it really necessary to assault a staff member of the Canadian Consulate in order to obtain that file?" He looked up at Kowalski enquiringly.

Kowalski shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. "Is that what Turnbull says?"

"I don't recall mentioning any names. But no, the Constable made no such allegation. However I spoke at some length with Inspector Thatcher, and she was most insistent that an assault did take place."

Cautiously, he remained silent. After a moment, Welsh sighed. "Since she admits she was not present at the time of the alleged assault, and Constable Turnbull refuses to confirm that any such incident ever occurred, I have advised her that no disciplinary action can be taken." There was another long pause. "That's all, Detective. Don't let me hear of any further allegations."

"Nossir." Kowalski lurched to his feet and sauntered out of the office. Back at his desk he leaned his elbows on a heap of files and ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping too well lately.

So Turnbull was sticking to his story. Well, that was lucky for him, but it was starting to make him feel like a world class heel, all the same. He didn't like that feeling.

*

The following day, he actually made an arrest. He didn't know who was more surprised, himself, the perp, or his fellow officers. He hadn't exactly been performing to his best lately, but he couldn't really work up much of a sweat about it. Ignoring the catcalls and smart remarks, he hauled the smelly little punk down to the Interrogation Room and left him there to stew for a while.

Huey and Dewey were waiting for him outside. Dewey grinned. "Hey, how many arrests does that make this month? One? Two? That must be a new record!"

"Hardy har har." Kowalski pushed past them. "No wonder that comedy club of yours folded."

"Hey!" Dewey started after him, but Huey caught his arm and pulled him away.

Unfortunately, he wasn't gone long enough. They were still hanging around when he got back, a half-drunk coffee in his hand. Somehow, as he passed Dewey his arm was jostled, spilling the dark liquid over his wrist. It wasn't that hot, but it didn't matter. It was the principle. He threw the paper cup aside and rounded on the other detective.

Immediately Huey was between them. "Take it easy Kowalski. It was an accident."

"So was he." Kowalski made a lunge at Dewey and was pulled up again. "All right, all right! Let go of me."

He threw a glare in Dewey's direction and straightened his jacket. Comedians. Suddenly everybody was a comedian. He opened the door into the Interrogation Room and stopped short. The perp had used his absence to scrawl badly spelt obscenities all over the two-way mirror with a marker pen.  
Welsh was gonna have his butt for this.

"Hey, cut that out!" The kid just looked at him and turned back to his efforts. "I said cut it out!" Kowalski grabbed a skinny shoulder and flung the kid halfway across the room.

He hadn't meant to be quite that rough, but, Hell, the little rat deserved it. Kowalski stalked over to him and grabbed hold of his T-shirt. "Now, you're gonna tell me everything I wanna know about Vinnie Salizeri, or I'm gonna wipe that shit off the mirror with your face."

The kid sniffed, obviously unimpressed. "You can't do that, man. It's fuckin' police brutality."

"Brutality? That?" His hand tightened. "This is brutality…" he half lifted the kid and slammed him against the nearest wall. "That brutal enough for ya, ya little shit?" Kowalski slapped him across the face, hard. "How about that, huh?" Another slap. A shove.

The stink of the kid's fear hit him then, and he felt himself completely losing it. A part of him looked on, appalled, as he slapped the kid around until the pimply face was streaked with snot and tears and blood. He thought he was still yelling, but so was the kid, and the noise only drove him on.

A hand came down hard on his shoulder from behind, and he swung wildly at the interloper. Another hand blocked him. Huey, he realised after a moment. Huey was always damn well interfering. He swung again. Somehow the room had got full of bodies, and he didn't really care who he hit. He saw the kid being hustled out the door. And then Welsh was standing in the doorway.

*

He was in real trouble this time. The fact that his lip was split and his right cheek was rapidly swelling wasn't going to earn him any sympathy either. He stood more or less straight, though his ribs hurt, and stared at the nameplate at the front of Welsh's desk. Some unregenerate part of him wanted to stare his boss down and tell him to shove it, but he didn't quite have the nerve.

It must have been well over two minutes before Welsh even made a sound. Kowalski knew it was one of those stupid psych games, but that didn't stop it working. He was starting to feel sick to his stomach.

"So, Kowalski." Welsh looked up at him with no expression whatsoever on his face. "Would you care to give me an explanation?"

He wouldn't care to… Kowalski maintained what he hoped was a stoic silence.

Welsh lifted a file. "I have here your files for the past two and a half months. Since you returned from the wilds of Outer Canada, you've been involved in at least a dozen altercations with other officers. I assume those are only the ones I know about. You've been reprimanded for tardiness on numerous occasions. Your arrest record is possibly the worst this precinct has ever seen." He rubbed his forehead wearily. "Detective, I've tried to give you some leeway on your recent behaviour, but I cannot ignore the fact that you've assaulted a young man who was in your custody. Who was in my stationhouse."

"But, he…" Kowalski stopped as Welsh held up a hand.

"I ought to ask for your badge." He sighed. "However if you agree to see the Police Psychologist, I'll allow you to continue on restricted duty. You'll have to hand over your gun." Welsh leaned forward, extending his hand. "Detective."

Kowalski found himself holding out his gun in a daze.

"I'll arrange for you to see the shrink tomorrow. That's all." Welsh's attention was on the gun he was placing in his desk drawer.

"No." For a moment Kowalski didn't realise that it was he who'd spoken. Welsh looked up at him calmly. "I ain't gonna see no shrink."

"Detective, you don't have a choice in this."

"Oh yeah?" Kowalski detached the badge from his belt and flung it on the desk. "It'll be a cold day in Hell before I go to a shrink."

It felt good, walking out of Welsh's office. For a while, anyway…

*

The trouble with being suspended was that it gave him time to think. Too much time, and too much thinking. After a day and a half in his apartment with nothing to do but stare at the walls and curse his temper, the kid, Huey, and Welsh, Kowalski was ready to climb those same walls. He couldn't even watch TV, because it was broken. So he drank instead.

He'd never been that much of a drinker. Except for the time just after he'd broken up with Stella, and that hadn't lasted long; but boredom and a simmering anger at the whole damn lousy world seemed like enough of a reason to tie on a good one. He didn't even need to go out. The booze was brought to his door, and even, occasionally, the takeouts too. It was only beer, after all. It wasn't as if he was really cutting loose. A small, sane, part of him wasn't quite ready to self-destruct so completely.

It helped pass the time. At least, he thought it did, because he had no real idea how long it had been before he heard the knock on his door. Kowalski frowned. Had he ordered more beer? Or maybe food, though he couldn't remember when he'd last felt like eating. But there was a six pack beside him, not even started and a couple of bottles half empty on the arm of the couch. Oops. Must have started a fresh one before finishing the other. Not a good sign…

"Yeah? Who is it?" His voice came out weak and croaky. He tried again, louder.

Another knock on the door. "Ray? Open the door, Ray."

The voice had a Canadian accent. For a moment he thought it might be Fraser. Then he realised who it must be. Turnbull. "Go 'way. Leave me alone, you dumb Canuck. Fuck off."

"Ray, open the door, please." The voice showed no signs of giving up. Another knock on the door reinforced the impression.

"No! Get outta here." He flung the bottle in his hand and watched with some satisfaction as it smashed against the wall. Just for the Hell of it, he threw a full one. It smashed too.

The knocking on the door became even more insistent. "Ray, if you don't open the door, I'm going to break it in."

He laughed. "Like Hell you will." Threw another bottle. Smash. The stink of beer was overpowering even the smell of his unwashed body.

"Then I'll call the police. Open the door, Ray." Turnbull's voice was as determined as he'd ever heard it.

There was no way he wanted the cops involved. He could imagine the sniggers, and the delight of his colleagues, if they heard about this. "Okay, okay. I'll open the damn door."

It wasn't as easy getting to his feet as he'd thought it would be. He managed to stand, and waited out the dizziness, swaying gently. He could make it to the door, easy. He wasn't really drunk, just a bit… well, maybe he was drunk, but not very.

After the first step, it was easier. The room wavered in front of him, but in spite of that he didn't go very far off course, and he managed to get his bearings back and head in the right direction. He was doing pretty well, though Turnbull was banging on the door again and calling to him. He was only a couple of steps away when pain shot up his left leg and he fell.

Luckily, he fell backwards. At the time he didn't realise it, but Turnbull told him later, and he shuddered at the thought of landing, ass first, on the broken remains of three beer bottles. He stared down in astonishment at the shard of broken glass sticking out of the sole of his left foot. And the  
blood welling up around it. He guessed he must have yelled, because a moment later the door burst open and a dishevelled and worried-looking Turnbull almost fell on top of him.

"Dammit, I cut my foot. It's all your fault, you stupid dick. You just hadta interfere, why couldn't ya leave me alone? I don' need you, I don' need any fucking snowback jus' get thehelloutaherean'leavemealone…" he ran out of air, and before he could get enough breath to start another tirade, he was lifted into a pair of strong arms and carried through to his bedroom. And  
that was the last he remembered for a while.

*

Turnbull stared down at the unconscious man on the bed. It was hard to decide which was the biggest mess; the apartment, which was a complete shambles, and stank, or its inhabitant who looked worn and ill and battered, and stank. He sighed. Well, first things first. He had to see to that wound.

It wasn't as bad as it first appeared. Perhaps he ought to take Ray to the Emergency Room and get it seen to properly, but something inside him shrank from exposing the American's dreadful state to anybody else. Of course there were no first aid supplies in the apartment, but the landlady, who'd opened the door for him, was probably still hovering around outside. Perhaps she could send somebody to buy what he needed.

Half an hour later, it was done, and Ray still hadn't stirred. The wound was clean and well disinfected. The edges held firmly together with tape, and the dressings neatly applied. It was probably borderline as far as needing stitches, but he thought it would heal well enough, as long as he could keep Ray from walking on it for the next few days. That, he acknowledged, could be difficult.

Ray still hadn't woken, and probably wouldn't for a while. Turnbull studied him carefully. His hair was dark with sweat and dishevelled, not the way it normally was, but in greasy looking spikes, some of which were flattened against his scalp. He obviously hadn't shaved in days, and even though his  
beard was light, it looked bad. His clothes were filthy. And he smelled. 

Ray probably wouldn't thank him for this later, but he was going to be washed. 

He didn't really know where to start. Eventually Turnbull managed to find a reasonably clean towel and washcloth. There was no point in trying to change the grubby sheets just yet, but he found a clean pair and set them on one side. Then, since there was no point in delaying, he began to strip the smaller man.

Knowing that Ray had no interest in him, he'd tried to refrain from imagining how the other man might look naked. Now he knew, but it brought him no pleasure. He was too thin; his bruised ribs and his hipbones were far too prominent. His belly fell away into a deep cavity, where it should, at the very least, have been flat. This hadn't happened in just a few days, and the evidence of self-neglect was worrying.

The intimacy of it was frightening. He knew everything now… the small, sparse tufts of hair under his arms, the pale, almost hairless body... even the tattoo on his upper arm. He smiled faintly and touched a fingertip to it. And, of course, the soft, thick cock, nestled cosily in a thatch of sandy pubic hair. Like most thin men, his cock seemed disproportionately large in comparison with his body.

Hastily, he rolled the unconscious man onto his side and began to cover his back with firm strokes of the soapy washcloth. The back of his neck was grubby. Just like a schoolboy… Turnbull smiled, relieved to be able to replace the more sensual images in his mind with a vision of Ray as a child.   
Untidy, undoubtedly, and impertinent. Almost certainly getting himself dirty at every opportunity and refusing to wash behind his ears… he'd probably been the despair of his mother.

Holding those thoughts in his head, he quickly finished, and wrapped the still body in a blanket, then carried him out to the lounge and laid him on the couch. Back in the bedroom he stripped off the sheets and made up the bed with the fresh ones. The room smelt of the unwashed clothing that lay in  
scattered piles wherever there was a bit of floor space. He threw open the windows, and turned the heating up to compensate, though it wasn't really cold this late in spring.

Once he'd got Ray back into the bed, Turnbull sat on the edge and studied him. He was sleeping more lightly already, and would probably wake before much longer. And then he was going to be very embarrassed. He went over to the drawers and managed to find, among the few remaining clean clothes, a large undershirt and a pair of grey knit cotton shorts. The same kind he'd stripped off Ray earlier. He blushed. They were the kind that clung revealingly to every contour of the body. Well, they'd have to do.

It wasn't easy getting those shorts on, either, he discovered. Perhaps a little easier than getting them off… with a sense of relief, he pulled the covers over Ray and looked around the small room. He sighed. The whole apartment was a mess, but he'd have to start somewhere. He went off to the  
kitchen for some trash bags. They would do to put the clothes in so he could have them taken to the laundry.

*

His head hurt. And, strangely enough, so did his left foot. Kowalski dragged his eyes open and looked at the man sitting on the edge of his bed. Turnbull. It all came back to him in one unpleasant rush. Oh God…

"Here, Ray." The Mountie held out a glass of water.

He levered himself up onto one elbow and took the glass cautiously. His hand didn't shake much and the glass was only three-quarters full. He sipped it, expecting tap water, but it was mineral water, cool and pleasant on his tongue. He didn't have any mineral water. He drank most of it, and then Turnbull removed the glass from his hand. He fell back onto the bed with a soft thud.

The sheets smelt fresh and clean. So, for that matter did he. He felt the colour rising in his cheeks and saw that Turnbull was looking embarrassed too. He groaned and flung a hand over his eyes. At least, he realised with some relief, Turnbull had dressed him again.

"Thanks." His voice was ragged and hoarse. He lifted his arm away form his face and looked up at the Canadian. The brightness of the light made his eyes water. He squeezed them shut.

"Is this better?" This time there was only the streetlights to illuminate the room. Turnbull came back and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry I can't offer you any aspirin, but you've had a little too much to drink. I can't risk it."

A little too much. That was a laugh, but he didn't feel like laughing. Even in the dim light, he could still see the bruise on Turnbull's cheek. "Why are you here? You're the last person I'd expect…" a tide of self-pity washed over him.

Turnbull blinked. Kowalski thought he was probably blushing. "I… ah… I heard about you… I… I mean…"

Oh God. Anything was better than listening to him flounder like that. "You heard I'd been suspended."

A nod. Turnbull stared at him miserably. He oughta be cheering. What was the matter with him?

"It… it wasn't because of… of…" He gestured vaguely towards his face. "…was it? I told Inspector Thatcher it was an accident, but... but she insisted…" 

"It wasn't an accident. I hit you." His stomach churned. "I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have done it. Anyway, it had nothing to do with that." 

"Oh."

Silence fell. Turnbull showed no sign of moving off the edge of the bed. Eventually Kowalski turned his head away and looked out the window. "Well, you've done your good deed for the day. You can go now."

"I don't think I should, Ray." The Mountie sounded more confident now. "You shouldn't be walking on that foot for a few days. You'll need some help."

"You're gonna nurse me? After what I did to you? Why…" but he knew why. They both did. Kowalski squeezed his eyes shut again. What a mess. What a hopeless bunch of losers they all were. Turnbull wanting him. Him wanting Fraser. Fraser wanting Vecchio. Vecchio wanting Stella. And Stella… God only knew what she wanted. Not Vecchio; at least not for very long, was his guess.

He opened his eyes. Turnbull was still sitting on the bed, his face down-turned and miserable. The bruise on his cheek seemed very dark. Kowalski pushed himself up on one arm and touched it lightly. "I'm sorry."

Turnbull just looked at him, not even trying to hide his feelings now. Kowalski's fingers slid behind his head and drew him forward.

It wasn't much of a kiss. More for comfort than anything else. He lay down again, his heart racing. He'd finally kissed a man and it had been Turnbull, not Fraser. Go figure. He sighed. "So, you gonna stay?"

Turnbull started. "I… I thought I could sleep on the couch."

"Don't be crazy, even I can't sleep on that couch and you've got four inches on me." He patted the bed beside him. "There's plenty of room. I ain't offering anything else, mind."

"No… no, of course not…" Turnbull looked hopelessly flustered. He looked down at himself. He wasn't wearing his uniform, just a flannel shirt and jeans. "Well, I suppose I'd better…"

Kowalski grinned. "Well, you can't sleep in them. Just make sure you keep your shorts on."

*

Lying in bed alongside the man he loved, Turnbull had discovered, was a mixed blessing. Pleasant as it was, the situation was definitely not conducive to sleep. He'd tried really hard not to think about that kiss and mostly he was succeeding. But each time he started to drift off to sleep, the memory of it would surface and he would become aware of a certain restlessness in his boxer shorts.

Finally, as the sky outside the window began to lighten, he gave up all pretence of trying to sleep and rolled on his side to watch the other man. Ray seemed so fragile. He knew that Ray's appearance was deceptive, that the smaller man possessed a wiry strength his slenderness gave no hint of, but still it roused a feeling of protectiveness in him that he found difficult to dispel. No doubt Ray would laugh, if he knew. Or perhaps he would be annoyed.

He studied the sleeping man almost greedily. Who knew when he might have such an opportunity again? The almost feminine delicacy of Ray's features fascinated him, especially since Ray was far from effeminate. If Ray had been effeminate, would he still have been attracted to him? An interesting  
question, he decided… he really didn't know. Ray was already almost totally the opposite of the kind of men who usually attracted his attention. But he decided it didn't matter. Ray was Ray, and he loved him.

Ray sighed and shifted restlessly, and Turnbull froze, not wanting to wake him. The thin, sensual lips parted slightly, and the hint of a smile appeared on them. He noticed that Ray's undershirt had shifted and half of a pale nipple now showed beneath the edge of the cloth. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips tightly together to silence the moan building inside him.

When he opened them again, Ray was watching him. The world seemed to stand still.

It was impossible to look away from his face; from the loneliness and need he saw there. But it was obvious that Ray wasn't going to ask. That he couldn't ask. Slowly, so slowly he felt he was hardly moving, Turnbull leaned over and touched his lips lightly to Ray's.

Afraid to go too fast, Turnbull contented himself with gently moving his lips against Ray's, and found that for the moment that was all he needed. He'd waited for this to happen for so long, never really believing it ever would. Now that it had, he wanted it to last as long as possible. Eventually, he gathered all his courage and brushed his tongue lightly across the sensitive lips. After a moment they parted slightly, and he deepened the kiss just a fraction.

A quiet moan against his lips made him draw back. Ray's eyes met his again and he stroked the flushed cheek with his fingertips. Ray smiled at him. He couldn't say the words he wanted to say. Words of love, of longing, of tenderness… he didn't dare say them for fear of driving Ray away. He couldn't bear to look at the vulnerability in that face, so he bent his head and began to explore the smooth column of Ray's throat. 

Ray's pulse beat rapidly against his lips and he felt, rather than heard, a moan rise in the pale throat. Ray's fingers slipped over his hair, and lingered, drawing him closer. Turnbull closed his eyes and lost himself in the scent and taste and feel of him. He wasn't even aware of what his hands were doing until the shock of feeling bare skin against his fingers roused him from his almost trance-like state. Ray gasped and the slender body arched beneath him.

Immediately Turnbull drew back. Ray smiled up at him and pulled him down again. He continued his stroking, since Ray seemed to like it, but his mouth covered Ray's and his tongue slid into its warm depths. There was no hesitation in Ray's response to him, and he knew, suddenly, that they were  
going to make love. He almost lost control then, as desire rushed through him. His fingers flattened against Ray's body, trying to contact as much of it as possible. It felt wonderful… the skin hot and silky; like nothing else on earth.

Once again, he began to kiss the sensitive skin of Ray's throat, aware that Ray was lying completely still, passively accepting his touch. Even that was so much more than he'd ever dared hope for. His lips trailed over the bare shoulder, lingering occasionally when Ray reacted favourably to his touch.   
Subconsciously, he must have known where he was going, but it came as a shock when he found his lips hovering over the half-concealed nipple. He glanced up at Ray's face as he lifted the edge of the cloth away with a careful fingertip.

It seemed to him that Ray approved, though nothing was said. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head again. His tongue flickered teasingly over the hard little nub, and Ray moaned helplessly. It was more than he could bear. His lips formed an O of anticipation as he lowered them to suck gently. Ray moved restlessly against him and heat flooded his already aching body. It was so sweetly intimate a thing to do, he could hardly imagine anything better than this. By contrast, the demands of his body seemed coarse, uncouth, and yet he knew they would not be denied much longer. Already his hand was moving downwards until it encountered the soft, smooth cloth at Ray's waist.

Ray groaned aloud and then gasped out his name. No longer passive, his hands were moving over Turnbull's body, fumbling with his undershirt. He stopped his sucking long enough to assist with the removal of his undershirt and then fell to his task again. Ray began stroking his back, uncertainly at  
first, and then with increasing enthusiasm. He pressed up against Ray's hands and moaned his appreciation.

His cock was painfully aroused now, making its demands felt in no uncertain terms. He lifted his head long enough to check that Ray was still keeping pace with him, then looked down at the heavy bulge showing plainly beneath the clinging shorts. Almost hesitantly he ran his fingers over the surface,  
sending shivers through the slender body. Another moan and a surge of the narrow hips greeted his touch. He stroked again and then laid his hand, palm flat over the hard cock.

"God! Oh God… do it!" Ray's voice was harsh, desperate.

Still unsure, still preferring to take it slowly, Turnbull slid his hand inside the opening of the shorts and over the twitching cock. The velvet heat took his breath away. He caressed the smoothness of it and felt the tickle of pubic hair against his palm, and then, the slickness of the tip. Ray moaned once more, pushing urgently against his hand. He stroked again, down the length of the shaft and cupped his fingers tenderly over the tight balls.

"Ray…" he whispered the name, afraid that the other man would hear the love in his voice. His hands tugged at the shorts, and Ray's hips lifted, his legs drew up to ease their removal.

Turnbull looked in stunned disbelief at the sight now before him. Who would ever have thought this was possible… his gaze swept from Ray's dazed face, down over the slender body, bare below the undershirt, pushed up now above his waist. So beautiful, so passionate, and for tonight, at least, his. He lowered his head to kiss the concave surface of Ray's belly, and followed the almost invisible line of hair down to his cock. 

The scent of Ray's arousal was very strong. He kissed his way along the shaft, taking intense pleasure in its eager responsiveness. His tongue slid over the cockhead, tasting, teasing, caressing. Ray cried out, his hands instinctively reaching for Turnbull's head, pushing him down to meet the upsurge of his hips. It was obvious that Ray was on the verge of climax and Turnbull was determined to give them both the pleasure they craved. He took the slick, rounded cockhead between his lips and suckled gently for a moment, sending a rippling shudder through Ray's body, then took the cock deep into his mouth.

Ray responded almost explosively, thrusting wildly for a few, desperate heartbeats, then shuddered again and relaxed. Helpless, hungry little noises escaped from his lips as he moved, slowly now, between Turnbull's lips. It wouldn't be long. Turnbull worked the thick cock determinedly, taking it  
deep and sucking strongly back up to the very tip. Ray's moans became continuous and then stopped; the only warning Turnbull had. The narrow hips thrust, once, twice, and the thick fluid gushed into his throat, as Ray slumped into a boneless sprawl.

Even then, he couldn't let go of that beautiful cock. He lavished kisses and soft strokes of his tongue over its length as its fullness ebbed away. Then he straightened out to lie alongside the slender body and take it in his arms. Ray leaned against him, weary and content. Even his own arousal seemed unimportant now. He might never get another chance to experience this. 

Drowsy pale blue eyes opened and blinked up at him. A smile creased the corners of Ray's lips as they closed again. Then Ray's hand, moving randomly over his body, encountered his erection and a burst of sensation wrecked his sense of wellbeing.

Ray's eyes flew open. "Geez, haven't you…?" they became thoughtful, suddenly. A tentative touch became more definite. Ray stroked him awkwardly. 

"It's all right… you don't have to…" Ray's lips on his silenced him. Ray's hand continued to move, still with the thin cloth separating them. 

The hand slid inside his shorts, taking his breath away. Ray was watching him rather uncertainly. "I can't do… well, I ain't no expert at this. But I want to… I like this. It's okay."

The movements were more confident now. Firmer. And he was so near… so very close. Just thinking about the fact that it was Ray who was doing this to him… Ray… somewhere, deep inside him something tore wide open, and he surrendered to it as molten heat erupted from him.

*

Consciousness seeped slowly into his brain, and Kowalski groaned softly and curled up into a ball in the hope that it would go away. It didn't. His head hurt. His foot hurt. In between those two extremities his body felt… great. He'd been laid. More than that, he'd had the best blow job of his  
whole goddamn life, and Turnbull, of all people, had given it to him… two and two didn't add up to four anymore, it seemed.

He was alone, and he was grateful for that. He needed some time to come to terms with everything that had happened to him last night. Or at least the things he could remember. He straightened out a little, and when that didn't hurt too much, rolled onto his back and stretched. The brush of the sheets  
against his skin made him realise he was still naked from the waist down. He slid his hand down over his hip and felt his cock stir expectantly. He gave it a congratulatory little pat. Man, had they got lucky last night.

A part of him didn't even care that it had been Turnbull and not Fraser who'd been in bed with him. He decided he didn't want to think about that too much. Luckily a clatter from the kitchen distracted him from his thoughts. He decided to get out of bed. He needed some coffee anyway.

His shorts were folded neatly and placed on a chair beside the window. He pulled them on. The piles of dirty clothing he'd left lying all over the floor were nowhere to be seen. Kowalski hobbled in the direction of the kitchen, with a minor detour to the bathroom, taking care not to put his left foot down flat on the floor. The lounge was tidy. It still smelt of beer, but there was no sign of all the empties, or the pizza boxes, or any of the other stuff that he'd dropped and left to lie on the floor over the last  
couple of months.

The kitchen, at least, was still a mess. But there in the middle of it was a Mountie, busily scrubbing at the counter surface, while the dishes piled high in the sink soaked days, maybe weeks old dried food off them. Kowalski stopped in the doorway to watch the tall broad-shouldered figure scrub at what he assumed was a particularly stubborn mark. The way the sandy head was bent over its task was uncomfortably reminiscent of the view he'd had last night, from a slightly different angle.

He took a deep breath. "You don't have to do all that."

Turnbull looked up, then turned. "Ray." A delighted smile crossed his face.

He couldn't help responding, no more than he could have if a puppy wagged its tail and yelped welcomingly. "Hi."

Turnbull came over to him, but to Kowalski's relief didn't try to kiss him or anything. "You shouldn't be walking on that foot. It won't heal if you do."

Suddenly, he was being swept up into Turnbull's arms and carried back to the bedroom. He vaguely remembered something like this happening last night. "Hey, put me down. I need a coffee."

"I'll bring you one, Ray, in just a minute." Turnbull deposited him on the bed, fluffed up the pillows and pulled the covers back over him. "Now, you stay right here. Coffee will be ready in just a minute. I'll get breakfast started too." A doubtful look. He must have looked in the refrigerator. "What do you usually have for breakfast, Ray?"

"Coffee."

"Oh, that won't do at all." Turnbull frowned. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know. I'll just have to improvise."

"Sure. Whatever. Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"No, Ray." Turnbull smiled patiently. "It's Saturday. I don't have to go to work until Monday."

Where the Hell had the week gone? But right now he figured it didn't really matter. Kowalski leaned back against the pillows, feeling good. He could care less about breakfast, but it was nice to be looked after. Anyway, he figured Turnbull would be lucky to find anything in the kitchen he could use. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done any shopping.

*

Sometime later, he was forced to acknowledge that he'd seriously underestimated Turnbull. Whatever it was he'd eaten for breakfast, it was some of the best food he'd ever tasted. And then the Mountie had got into bed with him and given him another blow job that had threatened to make his head explode. Now he lay with his cheek resting against a broad, slightly hairy chest and decided that Turnbull wasn't as much of a klutz as he sometimes seemed.

He'd learned a few surprising things about himself, too. While his mind was still reeling from one of the wildest climaxes he'd ever had, Turnbull had pulled him gently into a close embrace and begun to thrust against him, cautiously at first, and then with increasing enthusiasm. And Kowalski had  
found that he actually liked the feeling of a large hand cupping his butt, of a hard cock driving against his own. Afterwards he'd discovered that he also liked to play with Turnbull's softening cock, even, cautiously, to place his lips against it and feel the soft velvety texture. Pretty good for a guy who'd never slept with another guy before, he thought.

All the same, all sorts of questions were tumbling around in his mind, and there was only one person who was going to be able to answer them. He lifted his head and looked at Turnbull's face, still drowsily content. The blue eyes registered his expression, and became guarded.

"You're pretty good at this stuff, aren't you?" He hadn't meant it to sound quite as accusing as it came out.

Turnbull blushed and began to stammer. With a sigh, Kowalski put a hand over his mouth to silence him. "It's all right. I don't mind, okay? I guess I'm just surprised, that's all."

An even deeper blush spread over the angular face. "I… I suppose I had good teachers…"

There was a hint of bitterness in the words. Kowalski looked at him thoughtfully and lay down again. "Have you had many lovers?"

A long silence. "Just asking, okay? Tell me to shut up if you don't wanna talk about it."

The chest beneath his cheek rose and fell in a deep sigh. "Three."

Definitely not a happy tone. Kowalski placed a careful kiss on the chest and stayed silent. A large hand brushed over his hair and went away again. 

"The… the first… he was a professor. At college…" Turnbull squirmed beneath his cheek. "I was stupid. I… I thought he lov… well, anyway, he was the one who… he taught me…"

It was like listening to someone being tortured. Kowalski was beginning to feel deeply uncomfortable. "It's all right. You don't have to tell me."

"No. No, I want to, Ray. It's just…" the hesitant voice fell silent for a moment. Then the next words came out in a rush. "I thought he was separated from his wife, but he wasn't. And there were other students too. I found out later. Everybody knew about it, but nobody ever said anything."

"The lousy shit." Kowalski shifted, wriggling up so they were lying face to face. He touched Turnbull's cheek lightly and kissed him on the lips. "How did it end?" Not well, he'd bet.

"He got tired of me." Oh, the pain in that voice…

"Just as well for you, I guess." He kissed Turnbull again. "You're lucky he didn't… you know… give you anything."

The already flushed cheeks flamed even brighter. Kowalski stared at him, his heart suddenly hammering.

"It… it's all right, Ray. I… I wouldn't…" Turnbull closed his eyes, but not before his lashes darkened with tears. "I had a course of antibiotics. It's never come back."

"I'm sorry. I shoulda known… you just gave me a shock, that's all." He wrapped his arms tightly around the other man and held him. Turnbull clung to him and when he spoke again, his voice was muffled against Kowalski's shoulder.

"And then there was Guy…" he pronounced it, French style, as 'Ghee'. "I met him at Depot."

"Huh?"

Turnbull lifted his head. "The RCMP training college at Regina. We call it Depot."

"Okay. So I guess he was French?" Kowalski grinned. "Was he incredibly sexy?"

He'd only been joking, but Turnbull's eyes went dreamy. "Oh, yes… very…" he blinked suddenly. "Quebecois, Ray. Not French. It's not the same, you know. I tried to learn it, but I wasn't very good. He taught me how to cook."

"Then I owe him. That was great, that stuff you cooked." It sounded like Guy was a happier memory, and Kowalski felt relieved to get away from the professor.

"Thank you, Ray." Turnbull smiled, but his eyes looked suddenly mournful. "He was in a class only two weeks ahead of mine. He helped me a lot, because I found it difficult at first. And then we… well…"

"Fell in love?"

Turnbull blinked again. "I thought so. But… I thought, when we graduated, we could be assigned somewhere close together. I didn't tell him, I thought it would be a surprise… when I arrived at the post, he'd already found another lover."

"In two weeks?" Geez, he must have been sexy, but what a bastard.

The blues eyes slid away from his, and Turnbull rolled onto his back. Kowalski leaned on his elbow, and stared down at his bare chest. He began to stroke it absentmindedly. He liked the feel of the slightly coarse hairs against his fingers. "That must have been pretty tough, watching the two of   
them together."

"I never saw them together." Turnbull sounded surprised. "Guy was terrified of being found out. I heard he married a couple of years later, but it didn't stop the rumours."

"Oh." He kissed the pinkish brown nipple, then sucked it gently. That felt good too. A soft gasp told him Turnbull felt the same way. He brushed his tongue lightly across the erect tip and Turnbull shivered. "What about number three?"

The body beneath his hands tensed suddenly. "I don't want to talk about…"

Shit. "Okay. Not talking is good." He moved his hands randomly over warm skin and let his mind wander. It felt strange to be in bed with someone so large. Stella had been small and slender. So had the few women he'd been with since they'd split up. That probably meant something, but he didn't  
care. Now he was in bed with a guy who was four inches taller than him and maybe thirty pounds heavier. He decided it was time to find out a bit more about making love with a guy. So far, Turnbull had done most of the work. 

After a moment Turnbull sighed. "I don't even know why I got involved with him… he never even bothered to pretend…"

"Pretend what?" Kowalski paused in his efforts. It was clear that Turnbull wanted to say more, he just needed a little encouragement.

"To care…" the quiet voice thickened, as though he was on the verge of tears. "He just wanted to fu…" he stopped, his lips pressed firmly together.

It didn't sound like the kind of relationship that would make Turnbull happy. It was patently obvious that he craved affection, no matter that his sexual techniques were star quality. He'd been taught to please his lovers, but it didn't sound like his lovers had cared very much, or at all, about pleasing him. Poor bastard. The fact that he was likely to be the next one to hurt the Mountie did not escape Kowalski. But it was too late to back out now.

For a while they just kissed and touched, until Kowalski felt his lover relax a little. Then he started to wander. It was strange to feel the hard, flat planes of a masculine chest under his hands instead of the softer contours of a woman's body. Strange, but actually kinda pleasant. Turnbull began to shift restlessly against him as his arousal grew, but made no move to join in. Perhaps he knew that Kowalski needed all his concentration to do this. He reached Turnbull's flat belly and felt the stirring of his cock.   
Deliberately, he reached out and took it in his hand.

Turnbull moaned softly. "Oh, that feels good, Ray."

"Yeah?" He was delighted. He stroked down, firmly, and felt a responsive twitch, and an upwards pressure against his fingers.

"Oh yes…" Turnbull sighed.

It wasn't so different from jerking himself off, though usually he wouldn't take so much care over it as he did with Turnbull. Okay, it felt kinda strange to be doing it for someone else, but his own cock was joining in the party anyway. Kowalski lowered his head to suck at the warm skin over Turnbull's ribs and trailed kisses down his body. At the back of his mind, he knew what he was going to do, but he wasn't really ready to think about it just yet.

The musky masculine scent was actually pretty arousing, he discovered, and the sight of that thick pale cock, flushed a dark red at the tip made his guts twist in anticipation. He kissed the wet cockhead tentatively and heard Turnbull gasp. The taste was… interesting. Kowalski ran a cautious tongue  
over his lower lip and glanced up at Turnbull's face. Waiting to see what he'd do, Kowalski thought.

"I'm not gonna be as good at this as you are." He saw Turnbull smile weakly. Time to go… he took a deep breath. 

If he thought too much about it, he'd probably get a world class case of stage fright. He kissed the slick cockhead and let the kiss deepen into a gentle sucking. Turnbull was lying awfully still. Almost before he knew it the whole of the cockhead was in his mouth. This was okay. Actually, this was better than just okay. Turnbull made an urgent little movement and his cock slid along Kowalski's tongue. He concentrated on not choking, though it was probably all in his head. Turnbull went very still again.

It was getting easier now. He drew his head back, letting the cock slide between his lips, then pressed forward again, taking it deeper than before. Keep it slow enough and it would work. Once he felt like he was doing okay, Kowalski began to explore again. He stroked a muscular thigh, sliding his fingers up the inside and cupping them around a pair of hot, tight balls. Turnbull moaned and shuddered convulsively. Kowalski rode out the resulting lunge of the thick cock without incident and felt pretty pleased with himself.

Of course, Turnbull couldn't maintain his stillness forever, and now he began to move. Still careful, but with an edge of neediness, he flexed his hips, sliding deeper than ever into Kowalski's mouth. Deeper. Faster. More desperate. Kowalski found himself struggling to keep up. He knew he was going to have to decide, and very soon, just how far he was prepared to go. Part of him wanted to call it quits. After all, he was just a beginner here. Turnbull couldn't expect him to…

But he knew that Turnbull would probably never consider expecting anything of him. He could stop now, and Turnbull wouldn't raise the slightest protest. Except that he couldn't stop now. He might not be in Turnbull's league, but that wasn't going to stop him giving the Mountie the best damn blow job he was capable of delivering. Anything less would make him no better than the other bastards who'd taken what the poor schmuck had to offer and given him nothing in return.

That decided, it was just a matter of riding it out. Each thrust was fiercer, deeper than the one before, and Kowalski knew he couldn't manage like this for much longer. He wrapped his fingers around the base of the burning shaft and tightened his lips around the rest. That made it easier to suck. The sounds coming from above his head became even more frantic in response; the sturdy hips lifted in a desperate search for release.

A loud, abandoned cry signalled the end. Kowalski felt as though his heart would batter its way out of his chest as a hot gush of thick, slippery liquid filled his mouth. He swallowed instinctively, and it was just as suddenly gone, leaving only an aftertaste, almost impossible to define. He took the cock deeper into his mouth once again as breathless little sobs shook Turnbull's body.

With an enormous sigh, Turnbull went completely limp. His cock was wilting fast too. It had all been pretty intense towards the end. Kowalski was simply relieved that he'd been able to manage without making a complete fool of himself. He wriggled up alongside Turnbull and draped an arm across his  
chest. He watched it rise and fall with his lover's breathing.

Turnbull was still looking pretty dazed, his eyes barely open, his hair wildly disarrayed. There wasn't much of a resemblance to the prim and proper Mountie. It suddenly struck Kowalski as bizarre that only a couple of minutes before he'd had this guy's cock in his mouth and yet he still thought  
of him as 'Turnbull'.

"Hey, what's your name?"

The blue eyes blinked at him in obvious confusion.

"Well, I can't keep calling you Turnbull. I mean..." a sweep of his hand over their bodies indicated the point he was trying to make.

"Oh…" impossibly, the flushed cheeks became even rosier. "It's Renfield."

Kowalski stared at him in horrified fascination. "Geez! What is it with you Canadians and names? Don't they have real names up there?" He was sorry he'd said that when he saw Turnbull flinch. "Look, I didn't mean it. Well, I did, but… I can't exactly imagine screaming out 'Renfield' when I… you know…"

The distressed look disappeared and Turnbull appeared to be holding back a fit of the giggles. "I understand, Ray. My middle name is George…"

Kowalski sighed. "George? That's almost as bad. What did people call you when you were a kid? Surely everybody didn't call you Renfield?"

"Well, actually, Ray, they did." Turnbull thought about it for a moment. "Except at school. But I wouldn't want to be called that."

He didn't want to ask. Turnbull looked at him patiently, clearly waiting for him to make a decision between Renfield and George. There must be something better than either of those two options… "How about I call you Renny?"

The serious face relaxed into a smile. "A nickname? Yes. I'd like that, Ray."

Kowalski grinned. "Okay, Renny. It's a deal." They kissed to seal the pact.

*

It had turned out to be a lot easier, and a lot more pleasant, than he'd expected to keep Ray in bed. At least for the first twenty-four hours. By noon on Sunday, he was starting to get restless but, luckily, all his clothes were still at the laundry so at least Ray couldn't leave the apartment. Turnbull finally caved in to pressure and went out to do some shopping. He returned an hour later with a large bag clutched to his chest.

"So, what have you got?" Kowalski was as eager as a child at Christmas.

Turnbull looked at his lover, sitting naked among a tangle of sheets, and nobly resisted the urge to push him onto his back and ravish him then and there. "Well, I got us some cards." He poked around among the assorted items and found the pack. He flipped it onto the bed beside Kowalski.

"Cards?" His lover looked delightfully crestfallen.

"Well, I thought we could play strip poker." He smiled and blushed at his own naughtiness.

Kowalski rolled his eyes. "I'm already naked, Renny."

"But you could get dressed." He waited, but got no response. He sighed. "I got this."

"Monopoly?" Kowalski looked down at the box and then up at him.

He beamed. "Canadian Monopoly, Ray. I've been looking for one for ages. They're very hard to find in America."

"I wonder why." Kowalski heaved a longsuffering sigh. "All right… gimme a look at it."

*

"Ah! Baltic Avenue. With a hotel, that comes to…" Renny checked the card, though Kowalski thought he probably knew it by heart, and grinned triumphantly. "Four hundred fifty dollars, Ray."

"Four hundred fifty! For that crappy little…" Kowalski stared at him open-mouthed.

Renny held the card out to him. Four hundred fifty dollars. He didn't have four hundred fifty dollars. He looked down at the two fifties, the ten, and the handful of ones as if they might suddenly become higher denominations. They didn't. He scowled. "I don't have four hundred fifty."

Renny looked pleased. "You could sell me something."

Kowalski glared at him. Renny knew damn well that he didn't have anything to sell. He was just rubbing his nose in it. Kowalski flung the scraps of paper in his direction and swept the cards and tokens off the board. "This is a stupid game. I don't know why I said I'd play it."

The long face grew even longer and the blue eyes reflected hurt confusion. "I… I'm sorry, Ray. I thought you'd like…"

It stopped his temper cold, to hear that stammering uncertainty return to his lover's voice and to know that he'd caused it. "No. I'm sorry. I hate bad losers." He straightened the board, and found one of the tokens. A beaver. That was Renny's. "Where does this go?"

"It's all right. Really." Renny's eyes met his, and he smiled shyly. "Besides, if you can't pay me the game's over."

He couldn't let it end like this. "Maybe I could pay you in services."

The blues eyes lit up. "What kind of services, Ray?"

"What kind do you want?" He grinned, and braced himself, as Renny lunged across the space separating them.

*

Monday morning. It had to come, and Kowalski had been dreading it. Monday morning their cosy little world would fall apart when Renny went off to work. He'd be alone in the apartment again. He'd have nothing to do except play solitaire and read the book on curling Renny had bought him. So he could really learn to appreciate the game, Renny said. To punish him was what he thought.

At some ungodly hour, Renny woke him with a kiss on the cheek, a cup of coffee and a reluctant look. "I have to go by my apartment to pick up my uniform. I won't have to leave quite so early tomorrow."

Kowalski grunted. It was way too early to talk.

"That is, if you want me to come back tonight, Ray." Renny was looking at him uncertainly. Damn! He managed to pull himself together.

"Sure I do. Did I say I didn't?" He managed to sound like he meant it, which he did. It was just too early…

He fell asleep again, after Renny left, and didn't wake till late morning. Hopping to the bathroom, the way Renny had told him to, he looked forward to the rest of the day with misgiving.

Solitaire didn't keep him amused for very long. Neither did the book on curling. He wished like Hell he'd had the TV fixed, but it was too late now. He might as well admit that he didn't have a job anymore, so there was no way he'd be getting the TV fixed any time soon. He wouldn't touch the beer in the refrigerator.

Sometime during that endless afternoon, he found an old girlie mag and took it into the bathroom to jerk off. He wouldn't do it in the bedroom; he felt guilty enough doing it at all. Disloyal. Maybe if it had been a gay one… Kowalski laughed incredulously. He'd come a long way since Friday.

When the door finally opened, it was all he could manage not to launch himself across the room and into Renny's arms. "God, I've missed you."

"You have?" Renny looked better than he remembered in that red uniform, and pleased to be greeted so enthusiastically.

Kowalski started dragging him in the direction of the bedroom. Not an easy thing to do when you can only hop, but he managed it. "Yeah. Let's go to bed."

He met with resistance. "But… I have to cook dinner."

"Later. Bed first."

*

They'd made love, of course. There wasn't much that he could refuse Ray. There probably wasn't anything, actually; unless it was something that might harm him. Then he'd cooked dinner, wearing nothing but an apron, while Ray had hovered admiringly to the rear.

He watched approvingly as Ray scooped up the last of the Carbonara sauce from his plate. A few weeks of good cooking and Ray would be back to normal.

"So, what's for dessert?"

The question took him by surprise. He didn't normally make dessert, unless it was for a special occasion. He looked at Ray's expectant face with a sinking feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the pasta he'd consumed. "Uh… I didn't make any, Ray. I'm sorry." He began to swing his  
legs over the side of the bed. "I'll see if there's anything…"

Ray's hand on his arm stopped him. "I was joking. Honestly." He grinned wickedly. "I got all the dessert I need right here."

How could he resist that? He didn't even try.

*

God, Renny was a fantastic lover. The things he could do with that tongue… Kowalski groaned and lifted his hips invitingly as his balls were gently sucked. The emotions that flooded him were impossible to describe, even to himself. They left him weak and restless and aching inside. And then there were the physical sensations, which were frighteningly wonderful…

The sandy head dipped even lower between his parted thighs and he felt a soft, wet touch where he'd never thought anybody would kiss him. "Ohhhhh…. ohhhh, geeeeezzzz…."

His lover's face appeared, seeming to hover in the air above his rampantly aching cock. "Did you like that, Ray?" He looked extremely pleased with himself.

He groaned, and figured that he'd said all he needed to.

Renny kissed the inside of his thigh and looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you trust me, Ray?"

"Well… yeah." What now, he wondered.

Gentle hands grasped his hips and rolled him over to lie face down. His heart began to do flip-flops. But all that happened was a resumption of the wet caresses that sent shudders through his body. Slow sweet strokes of that magical tongue between his butt cheeks. On and on and on… he thought that  
this would be a really nice way to die.

The body behind him shifted position slightly. Hot breath swept up the cleft of his ass and an even hotter tongue probed cautiously at his asshole. He yelped and jumped. God! Maybe his first reaction had been the right one after all… Renny wanted to fuck him. Sooner or later it would happen, he  
supposed. Whether he was ready for it to happen now… that was a whole other matter.

A large hand stroked his butt cheek gently. "Trust me, Ray."

"Okay." He buried his head in the pillow and parted his legs a little more.

After a brief hesitation, the probing continued. Nothing too heavy, just enough for him to get an idea of what it might be like to have that thick, beautiful cock of Renny's inside him. What the Hell was happening to him? Sure, he'd been thinking about this kind of thing for months, but with Fraser, not Renny. And he sure as Hell hadn't imagined anything quite as detailed as this. Now, in less than three days, Renny had got him so hungry for it he'd let the other man do anything he wanted.

The probing stopped; became a teasing, flickering touch that set him squirming, his hips lifting instinctively. His cock began to jerk wildly in the confined space between his body and the mattress. He groaned helplessly. "Oh, God… what are you doing to me?"

Everything stopped. "Well, it's called…"

"I know what it's called… what are you doing to me?"

"Oh…" there was a long pause. A solid presence stretched itself along his back, not quite touching him. A voice spoke softly, close to his ear. "Loving you, Ray."

A weight settled against his hips, and that long, thick cock he'd been thinking about all day nestled itself comfortably in the cleft of his ass. It began to move slowly back and forth against him. Deliberately, he made himself relax and the movement carried him with it, pressing his cock against the wrinkled sheet beneath him.

"Ohhh… that's good…"

"Yes, Ray…" gentle kisses covered the back of his neck, then moved to his throat. His earlobe was suckled briefly. "Very good…"

He lifted his hips against that incredible touch, and spread his legs even further, seeking greater contact. The pace picked up a little, and a hand slipped under his body and began to stroke his cock with a loving attention to detail. He sobbed and began to thrust urgently, past the point of no return, but not quite ready to surrender. A breathless gasp against his shoulder told him that Renny was in no better state. He gritted his teeth against a howl of pure pleasure and felt the first hot jets of Renny's climax  
on his back as he tumbled headlong into his own.

He was still sobbing, he realised, as Renny turned him over and gathered him against a broad, sweaty chest. He vaguely heard Renny's worried voice asking him what was wrong, but he couldn't answer. Nothing was wrong. Everything was so right that it seemed impossible that this could really be happening to him. But still he cried. For what he'd had with Stella, and lost. For what he'd never had with Fraser, and never would. For what he'd found in such an unexpected place and nearly thrown away. For every fucked up thing he'd ever done in his whole fucked up life.

*

One of the pleasures of being an early riser was to be able to watch your lover sleep. And Ray was so beautiful when he slept. His eyes still looked a little puffy from that unexplained fit of weeping he'd had last night, but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully now. He resisted the urge to kiss the thin, sensual lips, but after a moment Ray woke anyway. So he kissed them.

"Mmm…" Ray smiled lazily, obviously in a better mood than he had been the previous morning. "Gimme another one."

That was an easy request to fulfil. They lay kissing for what seemed like hours, until his lips were swollen and sensitive, then Ray curled up against his side and began to suck his nipples. He groaned softly. He was quite incredibly aroused, and there wasn't going to be time to do anything about it. He was going to suffer all day, and he'd do it gladly if it made Ray happy.

His hands roamed over Ray's body in a slow, sensuous dance and after a moment Ray stretched against his caress and lifted his head. "Renny, call in sick today. Please…"

"I can't…" I can't, but I desperately want to…

Ray kissed him again and moved against him. Their cocks stirred against each other. He rolled onto his back, pulling Ray on top of him.

"You have to… you have to because…" Ray looked down at him, his face unusually serious, his eyes almost frightened.

"Because?" It was difficult to speak.

Ray licked his lips nervously. "…because I love you, and I can't stand the thought of not making love to you right now. Right. Now." He punctuated each of the last two words with a quick shaky kiss.

So this is what it what it feels like…

He thought his heart was going to batter its way right out of his chest. He could feel his eyes getting rounder and rounder by the second. Ray was looking absolutely terrified now. He flung his arms around the slender body and pulled it into a crushing embrace, until Ray protested incoherently.

"Oh, Ray! Oh, Ray… I love you so much…" he laughed, then sobbed. And laughed again. "Do you? Do you really?"

Ray nodded, and swallowed. "Yeah. I really do. I really love you."

He stared up into his lover's face, completely dumbfounded. Then Ray's mouth came down over his, blotting out the rest of the world.

He made it to the Consulate no more than forty-five minutes late.

*

It was almost ten p.m. Kowalski stared at the clock and willed it to be fast, but his watch confirmed its accuracy. Where the Hell was Renny? He'd given up calling the Consulate hours ago, after leaving increasingly frantic messages on the answer machine. Messages that Renny had better be around to  
erase before the Ice Queen heard them, or Renny was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

He was worried half to death. With a superhuman effort, he'd refrained from calling the hospitals, or the morgue. Mainly because he could just imagine what would happen. There'd be too many questions… questions like, 'is this Mountie a relative? No? Then we can't…' to which the only possible response would be 'I know he's a Mountie, but Mounties can be gay just like anyone  
else, and he's my lover, and I only just told him I loved him yesterday, and I just gotta find him because somehow this is all my doing, it's my punishment for loving him…' and, right about then, they'd start asking for his address and telling him to expect the men in the white coats.

And that would be a perfect ending to a hellish day. He got up and limped to the refrigerator and helped himself to another beer. It was only his second… he turned and saw two empty bottles on the arm of the couch. All right, his third. But the first one he'd had out of sheer boredom sometime  
this afternoon, so that didn't count.

Renny should have been home by five thirty at the very latest. He hadn't arrived and he hadn't called. Maybe he could call the Precinct. Ask Welsh for help. He decided didn't care how much Welsh humiliated him as long as he could find out what had happened to Renny. His hand was actually on the  
phone when the key rattled in the lock. A moment later his lover walked in. Neat as ever, not a hair out of place…

In two strides, he'd reached the Mountie and grabbed him by the front of his uniform tunic. "Where the fuck have you been? Why didn't you call? I've been worried out of my fucking mind!"

Renny just gaped at him, his eyes widening in shock. Then he managed to shut his mouth for a moment. He swallowed hard. "I… I've been out… of town, I mean… and… and…"

He dragged Renny closer and kissed him angrily.

"Oh, Ray…" his lover's eyes shifted past him to take in the bottles sitting on the arm of the couch. "You haven't been drinking… you shouldn't…"

Sheer fury flooded through him. "Don't tell me what to do." He shoved Renny away, hard enough to make him stagger. "You went out of town for half the night and you didn't even call me?"

"I tried, Ray. There was no answer…" his voice faded into silence as Kowalski swore again. "It's true. I would never lie to you, Ray."

"I don't believe you." He turned away, and when a hand touched his shoulder, he turned back, his fist already swinging.

There was no opposition at all. Nothing to stop his knuckles from impacting dead centre on his lover's nose. Renny didn't even try. At the last moment he managed to pull the punch enough so that he didn't break the fragile bone.

Kowalski stared in sick horror as the blue eyes filled with involuntary tears. Watched as Renny lifted his hand halfway to his face and then let it drop again. Then, as the silence seemed to stretch out to infinity, he saw the first fat droplet of blood slide down Renny's upper lip.

"Oh God…" a surge of near panic rushed through him. "I'll get a cloth… hang on…"

But Renny was already pulling a neatly folded handkerchief out of his pocket. White, of course. He held it to his nose. "I ought to lie down."

This wasn't the time for apologies, or abject grovelling. He followed helplessly as Renny walked to the bedroom and lay down on the bed, tipping his head well back. Typically, he let his legs dangle over the edge of the bed so his boots didn't touch the blankets.

Kowalski sat on the edge of the bed beside him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, love." A large hand clutched at his and he clung to it desperately. He bent to brush his lips against the pale temple. "Sorry…" his voice had sunk to a shaken whisper.

Renny's eyes closed. "Ray… my boots…"

"Sure. I'll get them off." He knew how to do this, at least, and got them off without much trouble. Then he started on the uniform. Renny moved, when necessary, to assist him and when he'd finished, relaxed back against the mattress. "You okay? Can I get you anything? Aspirin?"

"I think it's stopped." Renny lifted the handkerchief away. After a moment, when there was no more blood, he turned his head to meet Kowalski's eyes. "I did try to call, Ray. I was worried when there was no answer."

In the face of that look, and the quiet certainty of his voice, Kowalski couldn't help but believe him. "I know you wouldn't lie to me. I was just so worried…" he stopped, feeling sicker than ever. There was no excusing what he'd done. He couldn't even bring himself to ask if Renny still loved him. He didn't deserve to be loved.

*

The sky was lightening at last. At least now he could stop pretending to he asleep. And so, probably, could Renny. They'd lain side by side the whole night without touching. He knew Renny would have let him do anything he'd wanted… hold him, even make love to him, but he couldn't bring himself to do  
that. It would have felt too much like another assault.

Renny was hurting, and not just physically. He'd been the one to hurt him, and now he didn't know how to comfort his lover. He suppressed the urge to apologise for the dozenth time, to promise he'd never do it again. He'd already done it twice now, so why should Renny believe him? Besides, as a beat cop he'd been to too many domestics to fool himself. People like that always did it again. He never thought he'd be one of them.

He rolled onto his side with a sigh and faced his lover. Renny certainly didn't look as though he'd slept. A faint smile struggled its way onto his lips. It was a pitiful attempt. He leaned over and kissed Renny's cheek. Stroked back his hair. "You okay?"

Renny nodded and smiled a little more determinedly. "Yes, Ray. Would you like some coffee?"

"Yeah, okay." He suspected that Renny simply wanted something to do that was normal. At least as normal as you could get when you'd only been together for a few days.

He watched as Renny went through the now familiar routine and left for work. He tried not to sigh with relief as the apartment door closed. In fact, whatever relief he felt was short-lived… he went over to the phone and found the cord hanging loose. Somehow during last night's endless wait, it must have  
been pulled out of the wall socket.

Sick at heart, he stared at the dangling end, and then threw the phone against the wall. Which really helped a lot. He sat on the couch and put his head in his hands. He was the problem. Not Renny. Not the phone. The trouble was he had a tendency to think with his fists. He'd always had it, but it had never got out of control like this before. Except… there'd been that time he'd hit Fraser. He winced. He still felt bad about that, even after he'd talked Fraser into punching him back. Because Fraser had only done it to please him.

Renny wouldn't ever do that. Renny wouldn't even defend himself. Couldn't defend himself, because Renny loved him and would never do anything that might hurt him. He could beat Renny to a pulp, and Renny would let him. So he would have to protect Renny from his own lack of control, and there was  
only one way to do that.

*

Luckily his nose wasn't too swollen, and the darkness of the hallway helped to hide the marks of sleeplessness under his eyes. In any event, Inspector Thatcher had simply looked at him rather sharply, but made no comment, before shutting herself in her office for most of the morning. Another cup of tea  
at nine a.m. had perked him up considerably.

He wished the rest of it was as easy. It hadn't been nearly busy enough to distract him from his thoughts. Ray's lack of trust in him was as hurtful as his obvious concern had been heart warming. That they could co-exist in the same person was doubly confusing to him. Ray was such a considerate lover, and his tenderness had already healed more than a few old wounds left by his predecessors. Ray loved him. He'd said so, and there was no reason to doubt him.

And Ray had hit him in anger.

He loved Ray. He loved Ray so much that sometimes it hurt. He'd thought he'd been in love those other times, but loving Ray, and being loved in return, had shown him how mistaken he'd been. He'd wanted to love, and to be loved, but wanting alone was not enough.

He loved Ray, and now, he also feared him. The physical pain was nothing. But the pain of knowing that Ray wanted to hurt him, even if it was only a momentary impulse, was almost beyond bearing. Still, he would simply have to learn to bear it. There wasn't any other option he was prepared to  
contemplate.

He'd just reached that decision when the phone rang. Immersed in the conversation, he didn't notice the front door open. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of his lover standing before the desk.

"Ray!" His welcoming smile died stillborn as he took in the grim expression on Ray's face. His eyes dropped to Ray's hands and the small carry bag he held. It was his own bag, brought to Ray's apartment a few days ago.

Ray held it out to him and he took it. Neither of them seemed able to speak. He stared at Ray, and Ray looked past him, up the stairs, then over to Inspector Thatcher's office door. The waiting room. Anywhere but at him.

"Renny…" Ray's voice choked and he swallowed.

"Turnbull, can you…?" Inspector Thatcher's door opened and she put her head around it. Her face hardened when she saw Ray. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was icy.

"Uh… I had some stuff I needed to return. Nothing important." Ray looked from the Inspector to him and back again. Rather desperately, he thought. Inspector Thatcher showed no inclination to leave. Ray licked his lips nervously. "There's a note inside. Okay?"

There was obviously no chance of them speaking privately. He nodded. "Yes, Ray. Thank you." His eyes dropped to the bag.

The front door closed with a thud. The office door to his left clicked quietly shut. He opened the bag. There was a note. He didn't open it… that would come later. When he was alone, perhaps. There was a pack of cards, and a Canadian Monopoly set. Beneath them were the few clothes he'd left at Ray's apartment. All freshly laundered and neatly folded. Strange, how much it hurt to see that. Ray was so untidy. When his clothes had been returned, clean and pressed, by the laundry, he'd shoved them into his drawers any old way…

A sob tried to escape, but he wouldn't let it. He could deal with this. He'd dealt with it before. When Guy had told him he'd found another lover, he'd survived. The other two he wouldn't mention in the same breath as Ray, but Guy had cared about him, in an off-hand kind of way. It wasn't so different now. And at least he could console himself that for one glorious day, he'd known without a shadow of a doubt that he was loved.

The realisation of what he'd lost tore at him. He put his hands on the desk to push himself up out of the chair, and couldn't make it all the way. Instead, he stuck there, hunched over the desk and gasping for breath. For how long he had no idea.

"Constable? Are you all right?" It was Inspector Thatcher's voice, close beside him.

It took all his concentration to shake his head slowly from side to side. An arm came around him and he started to shake; the gasps finally turned to sobs. A large white handkerchief appeared in front of him. He had enough presence of mind to take it, but that was all. The next few minutes were a blur.

Somehow he'd got back into the chair. Inspector Thatcher had perched on the edge of the desk and was looking at him with concern on her face. "Do you want to talk about it, Turnbull?"

Her voice was sympathetic enough, but he suspected that she'd rather not know. Certainly, he'd rather not tell her. It appeared the handkerchief was rather wet now. He blew his nose once more, vigorously, and shook his head. "Thank you, Sir. I'll be all right."

She inspected him closely. "Well… all right. Would you like the rest of the day off? After all, you worked several hours past your shift last night." 

He flinched. "No. Really. I'd rather work."

Work was the best remedy for a broken heart his mother had always said. It was certainly better than going back to an empty apartment. Time enough for that tonight.

*

Well, he'd done it. It had hurt like Hell, but he'd made sure that Renny was safe from him. What it was doing to Renny, he didn't want to think about. If only he'd had a chance to talk to Renny, instead of having to leave that damn note. He'd hoped… but at least he'd taken the precaution of writing it, knowing that the way his luck went, they probably wouldn't be able to talk. Damn the Ice Queen, anyway.

He stared down at the beer in his hand. He'd taken one sip of it and nearly thrown up. He didn't have a drinking problem. It might have been easier if he had. That, at least, was something easy to measure. You stopped drinking. If you started again, you sure as Hell knew it. This was different.

He didn't know when it had started. He'd been a small kid with bad eyesight in a rough school. He'd taken up boxing so he could fight back when the other kids tried to bully him. And, he decided to be honest with himself, to impress Stella. He'd never hit Stella. The thought of hitting a woman repulsed him. But other men were fair game. Those were the rules his society lived by. They were the rules he lived by.

So he'd hit Fraser. He knew, now, what had brought that on. He'd been falling for Fraser for months. He hadn't been willing to admit it at the time, but that's what had been happening. And that's why everything Fraser did, everything he said, had begun to annoy him. Later, once he'd accepted that he was in love with another man, the edge had disappeared from his anger. He'd been able to cope with it again.

Until Fraser had invited him to go off into the wilds of Canada with him, and he'd finally thought that Fraser had realised. That Fraser wanted him. But Fraser hadn't. Fraser had still been mooning over Vecchio. Who, damn him, had taken off with Stella to Florida.

Even he wasn't so masochistic, or so blind, that he couldn't see what a hopeless mess it all was, so he'd returned to Chicago. Returned to a job he found it hard to care about any more, and to the sniggers and bawdy speculation of his work-mates. He wouldn't have minded so much if he'd managed to get laid even once. As it was, he'd existed in a permanent stage of suppressed fury until he couldn't hold it in any longer.

He suspected it was just bad timing that he'd become Renny's lover exactly at the point where he'd really started to lose it. It had nothing to do with Renny at all. Lousy timing was just his style. He took the beer through to the kitchen and poured it down the sink. He wasn't going to go that way; and he wasn't going to sit around this lousy apartment until he got so bored he blew his brains out with his backup gun.

That meant only one thing. He had to get his job back.

*

A dead silence fell as he walked into the Bull Pen. It lasted the whole time it took him to reach Welsh's office. He closed the door behind him and stood, waiting for Welsh to acknowledge him.

He didn't have to wait long. Welsh looked up at him with a weary sounding sigh. "And what can I do for you?"

He'd thought about the persuasive arguments he could use all the way to the Stationhouse. What came out was kind of different. "I want my badge back."

"I see." Welsh didn't so much as blink. "And why should I give you back your badge, Kowalski? You've been nothing but a headache since you came back."

That was true enough. For a moment he couldn't muster a single argument. 

Welsh stared at him and steepled his fingers. "Well? I'm waiting to be dazzled by your eloquence."

He didn't lose his temper. He wouldn't. This was too damn important. "Okay, I know I've been acting like a jerk." He waited but Welsh merely nodded, as though that was a fact of life that wasn't worth commenting on. "This job… it's important to me. I'm good at it."

"You were, once." The lifted eyebrows seemed to indicate that this was simply an invitation to continue. And, he suspected, a test.

"Yeah, well, I've been kind of screwed up. It's different now." He paused, but there was no response. He knew what Welsh was waiting for. "I'll go see the shrink, all right? Just give me my badge back."

"Would it be fair to say that Hell is experiencing Arctic weather conditions, Detective?" The voice was mildly enquiring.

"Yeah." He got it out through gritted teeth before he realised. Welsh had just started calling him 'Detective' again. It didn't make him as happy as he'd thought it would. He took a step back and sank into a chair. Somehow he didn't think Welsh was going to mind this time. He ran a hand through his  
hair. "Yeah, it is."

Welsh favoured him with a long appraising stare. Then he leaned over and opened his drawer. "Here."

He caught the badge almost without thinking and rose. "Thanks Lou. I appreciate it."

"Don't blow it." Welsh was clearly unimpressed. "And you see that shrink. Tomorrow. I'll make sure there's somebody available."

"Sure thing." He looked back as he opened the door, but Welsh's nose was already buried in a file.

Outside, silence fell again. Then somebody saw the badge, still held in his hand. "He's letting you come back?"

He didn't try to locate the guy. "Yeah. I'm back. So, whoever took my chair better give it back to me." He'd already noticed it was missing. That was a good chair. He hooked the badge to his belt. Welsh still had his gun. He figured he could get that back in a couple of days if he went to the shrink and kept his nose clean.

"Here. I was using it. But I guess you can have it back." Frannie, his one-time sister, and full-time nuisance strolled past with it. She was wearing another one of those indecently short mini-skirts. Indecent on a sister anyway. And he'd stopped thinking about her as anything else a long time ago.

He followed her to his desk, and she twitched her hips in a way that flicked the hem of her skirt tantalisingly. She knew he wasn't interested, she was just giving him the show for moral support. Frannie was okay.

He sat behind the desk and she leaned on it, in that way she had, before turning away. He grinned, feeling suddenly much better. He figured a couple of days to get his badge back. See the shrink, keep out of trouble. Get a few arrests under his belt. It would take a while before people accepted him, after the way he'd been, but he could do it. If he could keep his temper under control for a week or so, they'd start to relax.

And then, once he'd got his life together, maybe he could invite Renny out to dinner or something. Go to a restaurant. Only trouble was, it had better be a damn good restaurant if he wanted to impress Renny. He'd better start saving.

*

He drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel and looked across at the Consulate. At the lone figure in the funny uniform standing at attention beside the door. He hadn't expected that and it had thrown him badly. Kowalski looked at his watch. The guard duty shifts usually lasted an hour.   
Fraser had once explained to him in great detail why that was, but he hadn't paid much attention. He remembered the bit about it being an hour though. 

It was twenty after three. That meant another forty minutes before Renny would be able to move, or talk. Forty minutes of waiting, now that he'd finally worked up the courage to come here, was more than he could handle. If he didn't do it soon, he'd chicken out. Besides, he suspected that Renny  
had probably noticed his car and was wondering what the Hell was going on. With a huge sigh, he opened the car door and slammed it shut behind him. 

The Mountie statue didn't so much as twitch as he walked up to it. Maybe Renny was over him already. It had been ten days. They'd been apart longer than they'd been together. But he couldn't let himself believe that. Renny had loved him, and love didn't die that easily. He hoped. 

He took a deep breath. "I know you can't talk, okay? I wanted to talk to you, but it can't wait. I can't wait. But I figure you can listen, and maybe it's better this way. You can think about it and call me if you want to."

Not a flicker. Well, he hadn't expected it, really. "I'm sorry, you know? For what I did. For hitting you, and for bringing your stuff here the way I did. I just couldn't take a chance on hurting you again. Maybe we should have talked about it first."

The lack of response was getting to him, the first warning prickle of irritation was starting in his head. Kowalski turned away for a moment and paced up and down until he'd calmed down a bit. The shrink had told him it'd work and she'd been right. He hoped she'd been right about other things as well.

He came back. Stood facing his lover. "I wanna start over. I still love you. But I wanna do it right this time." He looked at Renny's left cheek as if he could still see the bruise he'd put there. He swallowed. The memory of it still made him sick. "I've sorted out a lot of stuff. I got my job back. I've been seeing the police shrink, and she's kinda helped me…" he grinned weakly. "I'm even keeping the apartment tidy. I never did that before. It's just, when I go to throw something on the floor I hear you…" he  
choked up. Shit.

"Anyway, I thought maybe, if you wanted to, you could come over…" he realised belatedly he'd meant to invite Renny out to dinner. Oh well… he decided to struggle on. "We could cook dinner together… at least, I could help you. And maybe we could… we could… uh…" he had a flash of inspiration. "We could play Monopoly."

Still nothing. He was expecting too much. He knew how seriously Renny took all this stuff. It wasn't fair to expect him to respond. "So, anyway, I'll go now. Think about it… you will think about it, won't you? And if you want to, just gimme a call. I got the phone fixed."

He turned away. Turned back for what might be his last look at Renny. Ever. He hadn't moved, but the blue eyes focussed suddenly on his. He stepped a little closer and stared into Renny's eyes. The skin around them crinkled a little as if the Mountie was trying to smile without moving his lips. Kowalski's heart began to pound.

"Renny?" Maybe he was imaging it, but he didn't think so. Kowalski lifted his hand to touch the pale cheek and it heated suddenly beneath his fingers as a tide of pink spread over Renny's face. He leaned forward and kissed his lover on the lips. They softened briefly against his. "I'll go now. Call me."

One more kiss, on the flushed cheek this time, and he turned away. Practically bounced down the steps and then strode jauntily along the path. He was tempted to whistle. Renny would call him. He was sure of it. And this time he'd make damn certain not to screw it up.


End file.
